


Backwater

by Kaiterai



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: A bunch of other characters that can be related to his backstory, Child Abuse, I name Lukas's brother here, Mentions of blood; not graphic descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-28 02:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12596444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiterai/pseuds/Kaiterai
Summary: "Some in the Deliverance ridicule me for this, calling me a 'backwater noble.' But unlike them, I rose above my origins on my own merits, and as a result, here I stand today."A collection of one-shots focused on Lukas's past, and only his past.(Crossposted on Wattpad)





	1. One - The Boy and the King

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself that I was going to post the edit on AO3 too, a few months ago, so here it is!
> 
> Compared to Wattpad, updates here will be coming later because I update first thing in the morning for Wattpad, whereas for AO3, I have to use my laptop - so I apologize for the long delay, and I hope you do not mind it at all.
> 
> This was inspired by "Character Analysis: Lukas" from a Serenes Forest thread, which I highly advise for you to check out (https://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?/topic/72713-character-analysis-lukas/) - it's an interesting read anyways, so just go^^
> 
> Thank you to Aerodynamic157 (on both AO3 and Wattpad). Need I say more? She's an amazing person and her works are absolutely breathtaking - especially the descriptions and the dialogue and the plot ideas- okay, time to stop.
> 
> Finally, thank you so much for choosing to read Backwater, and I hope you enjoy it.

"There are no heroes... In life, the monsters win."  
\- George R.R. Martin

\---

On the wooden floorboards was a lance, with dried mud and dirt still crumbling off of the silver tip; it was basking in the moonlight and reflected it onto the plain ceiling of the room. A single candle lit the room, providing the red-haired inhabitant with a sense of security and warmth and the room with heat and a calming light. The quiet night was only disrupted by the sound of quiet crickets and shallow breathing, but also by the sound of crumpling pages.

The red-haired boy, Lukas, had a book in his hands.

The book was old; the pages were yellowing and the leather cover that smelled so wonderful was worn out. Fading ink prepared to take away the enticing story that pulled so many readers in, but his hands were still firmly gripping the book - he refused to let his attention off of the pages.

His ruby eyes were calm, yet strangely urgent, as they absorbed the words and the narrative. Whispers began to join the chorus of nighttime sounds as his mind created image after image, each one based off of the story.

Lukas smiled simply thinking of the character - an ordinary boy, fighting to save his village from being taken over by an evil kingdom. The boy was described as brave, valiant, and strong, but also a clever villager determined to do anything to save his friends and family; it was everything that a boy wished to be, it seemed.

He closed his eyes after reaching the end of the chapter, imagining the boy, with a sword in his hand, preparing to fight against the king, even if it seemed futile. There he was, in front of the towering stone castle; it would be their final obstacle before they won. He would have to crane his neck to see the very tops of the castle, where archers were already positioned, their shining silver weapons ready to attack. Blue eyes scanned his surroundings. There were horses and guards that most certainly outnumbered their weak infantry.

But he had hope, and he thought that was enough. He turned around to face his army, who were all exhausted after a day of trekking through mountains and rivers. There was something in his eyes, however, that forced his one hundred soldiers to stand up straight, eyes widened with eagerness.

"Now!" he would scream, as the soldiers charged, bronze and wooden weapons in their hands. Pages turned faster and faster as soldiers continued to fight more and more. The scent of blood hung in the air, mixing with the screams of cries of soldiers that had lost their close friends to the enemies. In the midst of this chaos, there was a single boy running, his feet hopping over corpses and injured soldiers that blocked his entrance to the castle.

Until he saw him: the king.

The king was sitting on his throne, already in full battle armor as if he had expected the boy. He would stand up, unsheathing his sword; the sound of metal sliding against metal would ring in the grand hall, and the boy would prepare for an attack, moving into a defensive stance. There was silence as the two stared at each other, as Lukas and the boy had adrenaline pumping through their veins, as all three of their hearts pounded loudly, until the mere sound overtook all of their senses.

The boy moved first, charging right at the king. Uncontrollable tears were pouring down his cheeks as he screamed insults and curses at the unbudging king, whose stance was too relaxed for a battle. He raised his sword, ready to lower it on the king's iron helmet, only to have a silver shield block it.

More and more slashes were thrown at the king, but all of them were intercepted by the same silver that the boy was beginning to hate. His throat was starting to hurt, his voice was starting to become raw, and his tears were starting to cloud his vision, to the point where he couldn't see the silver details on the king's armor. His legs eventually faltered beneath him, forcing him to kneel as he tried to catch his breath and regain his strength.

He kneeled, his chest rising and lowering quickly; his eyes were glaring right at the king, who set down his shield and waited.

Lukas took a deep breath, the king's deep voice rumbling in his head. "If you wish to defeat me, you may also wish to regain your strength before trying again."

"Why don't you just kill me now? You have the power to do so anyways." The boy's blue eyes were filled with tears of anger, and each tear that rolled down his cheek reflected the patterned ceiling of the hall.

The king only chuckled, removing his helmet. Two blue eyes, as cold and as sharp as ice, were revealed. A gasp escaped the boy's lips - they were identical to his. "You are brave for saying that, my-"

Creak. Lukas looked up, his eyes widened in alarm.

Someone was opening the door.

His hands moved to slam the book closed, sending dust everywhere on his bed; it stained the white cloth that was underneath, leaving a gray smudge on it that Lukas ignored. He leaned over to put out the candlelight with his fingers, which were still raw from doing the same thing, just a week ago. However, as soon as he could feel the warmth of the candlelight, the door fully opened, revealing the figure of a tall man. His black eyes were glaring right at Lukas, who had never felt smaller in his life.

He was caught. Again.

"Son."

Lukas's hand reached for his book, fingers wrapping around the familiar leather bind. He felt his heart catch in his throat, pounding louder and louder until it reached the point where he was certain that his father could hear it too. "Father."

Perhaps it was because of the slight movement, but his father's attention was now directed at the book, which was sliding towards Lukas, inch by inch. He felt his hands grasp the book tighter in hopes of hiding his trembling.

His father walked over, his heavy footsteps shaking the house. They were too similar to thunder - loud, but also a reminder that something bad was coming. Lukas took a breath, swallowing the bile that was crawling up his throat.

"You've been reading again." His quiet voice made it infinitely worse; his tone was peaceful as of now but this was how all of his yelling matches began. Lukas backed up, trying to mask his fear.

"I- Father... I was just-"

"No excuses. This is your fifth time doing this." He sighed, picking up the lance that Lukas had thrown on the ground to lean it against the wall. "Reading during midnight... It's a shame that you can't put all of your energy into fighting. Imagine how excellent of a soldier you could have been if you stopped caring about worthless paper and ink."

Lukas took a breath, eyeing the lance. He suppressed his shivering, refusing to make eye contact with his father.

"What kind of Straio are you?" His father's voice trembled. "We Straios have been known for fighting, not reading - am I right?"

"Y-yes, Father."

There was a silence, but Lukas could hear his father's temper rising as each second passed. The black-haired man eyed the boy with a type of disgust in his eyes, with a fire that burned behind it every time he looked at Lukas. "If I'm right, then give me the book."

Lukas shook his head. "N-no, father."

His father raised an eyebrow, towering over the boy. Lukas felt his breaths grow quicker as his father moved closer to him, his shadow blocking out the candlelight from the hall.

"Say that again."

Lukas hesitated, looking down at the book that he was now hugging so tightly. "Y-you don't understand, father; this book has been around for hundreds of years. It's-"

A quiet gasp escaped his lips as his father's hand moved to slap his face.

He sneered, looking down right at Lukas. "You're nothing like your brother. At least he listens and obeys me... at least he lives the proper life of a Straio, as a soldier!" His voice continued to raise as he spoke. "You're a useless son! You've done nothing for this family, nothing for anyone!"

Lukas shook his head, using a hand to wipe his tears away. Perhaps it was his racing mind, but the room around him was spinning. His heart was pounding at the mere thought of his father complaining about how he did nothing, nothing at all, and he found himself narrowing his eyes. He looked up at his father, a glint in his eyes.

Protect the book.

"Useless? Nothing? Is it wrong for me to enjoy doing something other than fighting?" Lukas cried. "I'm not like you and Leroy, father; I actually have a pastime unlike you two!"

He was panting by the end of his statements; he had been close to arguing back with his father many times before, but this was the first time he had truly snapped back. He wished to say more and to get everything off of his chest, but it was his father's look that stopped him - it was a look of pure anger, that Lukas had only read about, but never experienced.

His panting changed back into shivers and trembles; his stomach felt like it was stuck in a never-ending drop. He moved back a little, his hands gripping the book that he refused to let go of. His father's eyes widened with madness. "You insulted your own father. For Mila's sake, how did I end up with a dastard like you?"

Lukas curled up into a ball as soon as he saw his father's hand raise. He braced himself for the impact, whimpering quietly, and felt it milliseconds later, right on the back of his head.

The pain was the exact same as the one he felt when putting out the flame with his fingers - it burned. However, his was different. It was as if fire was in his veins, his heart pumping flames from the top of his head to the rest of his sore body.

Lukas raised his head slightly, expecting this to be the end, but he felt another wave of pain, coming from the back of his head once again. It burned, more than the first time, causing tears to come out and drip all over the book. The smell of mildew and yellowed pages comforted him, barely steadying his heartbeat.

Twice quickly became thrice as his father hit him once more. This time, he let out a small cry, only to stifle it himself by biting his hand. He continued to sit there, shaking, not trying to put on a front anymore; the cold tears were landing on his cotton pants. His face was hot. From what, he didn't know.

His father bent down, lifting Lukas's face with a single finger. Ignoring his son's tears, he pushed Lukas's arms away from the book, and the boy didn't bother to resist.

"Moldy pages. Leather cover, tattered and almost destroyed," he said, his voice steady. "The Boy and the King. Very well. I expect to see this book on the table tomorrow. If I don't-"

"You'll destroy my entire room to look for the book," Lukas finished, his voice meek.

His father nodded, standing back up. "Yes. For this outburst, I will add three extra hours to your training, overlooked by Leroy. Do not talk back to me again. Do you understand?"

Lukas looked up, widening his eyes. "But-"

"Do you understand?" His father said these words slower than before.

"I..." Lukas hesitated. "I do."

"Very well. Rest soon, Lukas." His father leaned over, blowing out the candle. A scent of smoke and old books, a smell that Lukas hated, filled the air. He felt as if the warm embrace of the night and shadows was disappearing as the scent was getting stronger and stronger by the second.

Lukas didn't bother to relight the candle, even after the door creaked shut. He sniffled, wiping more tears away, and lay down on the bed. The book was still in his arms, and he closed his eyes to remember the rest of the story.

The boy was the king's son.

Instead of fighting, he would drop his sword in shock. The king would then extend his hand, giving the boy an offer: to rule the world. Together.

The boy would then refuse, picking up his sword once more. He would prepare himself to fight against the king, one last time, to determine the fate of the world: to either be ruled by him or his power-hungry father.

"Very well," the king said, a shadow on his face. "You have chosen your own destiny."

They would clash blades, one last time, father against son. With a final slash, the boy would fall, his body joining the endless corpses outside.

The world would be the king's after all, just like he planned.

Lukas pulled the book in, closer to his chest, and fell fast asleep, a leftover tear rolling down his cheek.

\---

The next morning, his father noticed something at the table.

It was a book, a fairly old one, by the looks of it, with moldy pages and a tattered leather cover. Looking closer, he smiled once he realized what the cover read, in faded golden ink.

_The Boy and the King._


	2. Two - Brothers (1)

"They wouldn't beat him up. They wouldn't break his ribs. He knew that. But they had other ways of breaking him - with silence, with disappointment, with disapproval."  
\- David Levithan 

\---

His back was hunched over; his hands were raw from the splinters of the lance digging into his palm. Droplets of sweat had begun to drip onto the mud beneath him, splashing on the rusted boots of his armor. Lukas raised his little arms, watching the silver lance slice the air as he grit his teeth - it was, after all, a bit too heavy for the eight year-old.

Lukas lowered his lance, his eyes focused on the dummy in front of him. He was ready to drop on the ground from the weight of the iron armor and lance combined, but his mind warned him to continue going. The sheer thought of his father's burning glare sent a chill down Lukas's spine as he pushed on, charging at his target.

Fwoop.

His lance had almost missed, leaving a mark that was unnoticeable. Lukas could feel his face heat up as he stared at the dummy - the crowd of little, insignificant marks seemed to have banded to mock him. It was nothing compared to the air of disapproval that lingered, however; he had no doubt that it was coming directly from his father.

There was a loud noise that caught Lukas’s attention. He snapped his head towards the source of the sound, his jaw dropping - a huge crack ran through the dummy right next to Lukas’s. It was laced with markings, both slashes and stabs, to the point where wooden chips and pieces had begun to fall off.

Another crack followed the previous one, as his brother, Leroy, moved to strike once again.

He looked like a natural while doing so - something that his father was proud of. Sweat seemed to pour from his forehead as he bounced on his feet, preparing for a third attack. His bare hands grasped the lance like it was second nature for him while daunting black eyes stayed focused on his target. He lunged once again, the tip of the silver lance slicing through the wood like it was air.

Lukas glanced back at his father. There was a small smile on his lips, one that Lukas saw every time he laid eyes on Leroy. According to him, Leroy was, without a doubt, a true Straio, with fire in his eyes and the ability to strike fear into everyone’s hearts. 

His father was almost ready to break out into a full grin; at least, until he turned his head. All signs of joy would disappear from his face immediately, having been taken away by the mere sight of Lukas.

The redhead made eye contact with his father for a split second - he could feel the fire raining down on him as he turned back, staring blankly at his own dummy. It was unfair, unfair, and nothing but unfair; Lukas wished for his father to appreciate the fact that he was trying, at least once, instead of glaring at him the entire time. Was it because he was failing? That he wasn’t as good as his older brother?

That he was the inferior?

Maybe he would, at least, be unique in a good way if he tried something different. Maybe he would actually hold some value in his father's eyes, for once.

His eyes were a combination of hopelessness, yet determination, as he planned. He could do the opposite of what his father mentioned - keep a loose grip instead of a tight one. His wrist could be used as well: a flicking motion combined with his arm movement, instead of the typical “stiff wrist and only that” his father instructed. He took a breath, shaking sweat off of his hair. It was certainly not the best plan, he knew, but he still charged.

The summer breeze pushed his hair back as his feet splashed mud and dirt all over his shoes. His limbs burned, begging for a break, but he continued moving; the pain allowed for Lukas to almost forget about his father. He blinked a few times - he was nearing the dummy, and would need to attack now.

Relaxing his wrists and fingers, he loosened his grip on the lance and slid on the mud, arm outstretched. He had lost his balance originally, but he ended up regaining it right as he was ready to slash. His arm swung and he flicked his wrist, shutting his eyes - his lance came into impact with something that he hoped was his intended target. He paused for a moment, eyes squeezed shut; the lance in his hand was still raised, as if he was too afraid to move.

The silence was interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

“Lukas, what are you doing?” his father asked. “Continue training before I extend your session more.”

Lukas finally opened his eyes, the first thing he noted being his raw, bleeding hands. “Yes, father.”

But when he turned his head to face his dummy, he couldn't help but grin. There was, for once, a visible mark on the wooden soldier, that ran from the shoulder to the abdomen. A feeling of excitement ran through his veins, but the realization that his father just seemed to despise him for no reason destroyed his celebration.

The sound of thuds and clangs was all that could be heard for the next few minutes, until his father glanced up at the sun. “Very well, Leroy. You are finished for today, although I wish for you to look after Lukas for some more hours while he does his punishment training.”

Lukas set down his lance, letting out a breath. Meanwhile, Leroy smiled and bowed his head. “Of course, Father,” he said. “I'll help him with his training.”

His father nodded as a response before turning to Lukas, the gleam in his eyes fading away. “Don't cause any more trouble, son. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father.” 

“Good.”

Lukas managed to swallow his bile as he glanced between his father and Leroy. Dread settled in his stomach as his father turned away, stepping off of his dirt mound, and the quiet clinks of armor from his father heading up the hill were overshadowed by the sound of Lukas's pounding heart.

He shook his head. His lance was digging into the dirt, and he was putting his weight on it while admiring the quiet scenery of the afternoon sun - it served as a nice distraction, .

Everything seemed perfect.

That was, until he felt pain on the back of his head.

Lukas winced, a part of him amazed that his brother could pick up their father's slap so easily. He turned around, narrowing his eyes, and watched, only to see Leroy on top of the mound, with a grin on his face. It was a grin that Lukas disliked; it was not one of true joy. No, it was different - it was a sadistic smile, a smile that would be a warning to everyone within a few feet of him, a smile that would warn everyone to be careful of this teenager.

Lukas grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. “I guess I'll continue training more.”

“I disagree,” Leroy retorted. “Fix your stance first.” He stood, proud and tall, as he smirked at Lukas, his voice laced with superiority. His tone caused Lukas to furrow his eyebrows; he didn't like it at all.

Either way, Lukas sighed, moving into his position. Stand sideways. Knees bent. Lance in both hands, and a tight grip on the lance…

“Wrong.” Lukas nearly jumped at the interruption. Leroy had jumped off of the mound, his eyes narrowed in a mocking glare. “You're terrible at this, probably even worse than the villagers out there. At this rate, you will lose the duel - although, it isn't as if you could win anyways.”

The duel.

Lukas knew exactly which duel he was referencing - the same one that would decide who would be the inheritor of the Straio name and heirloom. He looked down at his lance, stifling a sigh; it seemed to be so far away. They - especially Lukas - weren't even close to being married yet, which would be when the duel commenced: after all children were married.

Leroy pointed the tip of his lance directly at Lukas. “Get back into the position you were in before.”

The redhead disguised his groan with a cough as he moved back into his position. He could have sworn that his stance was perfect - observation and careful planning should have helped. He could have also sworn that his joints creaked as he moved into his stance; it had started to hurt whenever he moved, but he refused to bring it up. The last thing he wanted was for Leroy to tell their father that Lukas was being lazy.

Leroy had begin to poke his lance around, prodding Lukas's elbow up and down. Mud and wood chips stained his shirt as Leroy continued. Lukas wasn't sure what else he could do but watch; a part of him wanted to just get the session over with, while the other part wanted to fight back against Leroy. But, alas, he had his father to worry about; arguing back with Leroy would have only resulted in being yelled at by his father - something that he dreaded.

Leroy moved to the other elbow, smearing dirt there as well. A grin was now plastered on his face as he watched Lukas sweat. The cold silver pushed his arm around, the numbness finally beginning to overtake the burning. It wasn't painful, Lukas noted. It was just a strange feeling, a feeling that he wanted gone immediately.

Leroy's lance prodded Lukas's knee, forcing him to bend down more. Lukas almost let out a hiss of pain - the burning sensation was back; it just was worse than before. However, he refused to let Leroy notice that he was on the verge of falling. 

His shaking only became worse, especially with the iron armor pushing him further down; he feared that he was shaking quite visibly now, too, and Leroy's growing smirk only confirmed that. Lukas let out a groan. “Gods… Leroy, could you please hurry up?”

“No. Your stance is still flawed.”

“If my stance is flawed, then what is yours?” the red-haired boy spat, standing right up. 

Red eyes met black ones, both locked in a glare. Leroy's gaze darkened as he spun his lance, nicking Lukas in the nose. The tip stayed there, pointing directly at his eyes - it was too close for Lukas's comfort. “Don't insult my stance. You're eight; what do you know?”

Lukas reached for his nose, wiping off the small droplet of blood that was beginning to form. Glaring back at his brother once more, he shifted back into the same, tiring stance he was in before. It wasn't long before he had begun to shake again, before Leroy started to grin once more.

He felt the wind being knocked out of him as Leroy used exceptionally more force to get Lukas to bend down lower, to the point where Lukas had to lean forward to maintain balance. The prods returned to being small and insignificant, causing him to turn redder with each poke.

But he wasn't the only one that was angered, no. Leroy was circling Lukas while prodding him, the grin on his face saying nothing about how he truly felt. “My stance is flawed? Impossible,” he muttered. Lukas managed a small smile as a response, but his teeth were too tightly gritted for his smile to appear on his face.

Leroy paused for a moment, letting his lance rest on the ground first. He glanced at the cottage, before returning his attention to Lukas, a new gleam in his eyes. “How were your books?”

“W-what?” This caught Lukas off-guard; he stood there, eyes widened at the sudden question.

“I'm asking you. Did you enjoy reading your books?” Leroy didn't even bother to wait for an answer as he continued to drawl. “A shame that Father collected most of them. How many nights has it been now, seven? Maybe even eight?”

“How do you know?” Lukas questioned, his voice shaking with his legs. “You should have been asle-”

“The Boy and the King. I hope you realize that he plans on selling the book to a family that's willing to give fifteen silver marks for it.”

Lukas's eyes narrowed - his heart was pumping faster and faster, taking the fire from his legs and spreading it throughout his body. “What? Is that what he does with my books? He sells them?”

The black-haired boy chuckled, twirling his lance to hit the back of Lukas's knees. Lukas fell backwards, his head hitting the mud and his lance falling right on top; his armor dug into his back as he let out a groan, unable to move.

“Of course. What do you think he does with them, burn them?”

Lukas didn't say anything. His face was flushed now as he stared at the sky; his legs were exhausted from holding the “proper” stance for too long, no matter how much he wanted to stand up and yell at his father and brother. But there was a feeling of guilt within him as well - those books weren't exactly his.

The gleam in Leroy's eyes was one of sick delight, Lukas thought, as his brother's lance moved once more; the back of the lance came tumbling down, landing right on Lukas's groin - he gasped, looking as if he was ready to jump up for a moment, before closing his eyes and relaxing in the mud.

Leroy sneered. “Stand up.”

“I-I can't…”

“Pathetic. If you weren't reading all the time, then maybe you could have actually built up some muscle. Stand up, now.” Leroy's lance swung once again, but Lukas opened his eyes in the nick of time. He rolled over, armor clanging against armor, and watched as the lance landed on mud. Leroy’s face grew into one of bewilderment and shock, uncertain of what just happened; it clouded over once he saw Lukas standing up.

Lukas picked up his lance, spitting, “I-I don't read all the time. Do you see that? At least I'm fast enough to dodge your att-”

He was interrupted by Leroy's lance, swinging to hit his jaw - there was no pain until many seconds later, when it had begun to throb as fast as his heartbeat. His hand moved to cradle it as he glared at Leroy.

“Don't talk to me like that,” Leroy hissed. His eyes were covered by dark clouds as he glared right at Lukas. There was silence for a while as Lukas found himself shaking under his brother's glare - the only issue was that he didn't know whether it was fear or anger.

But it became fear for sure when Lukas saw his brother charging, lance in hand.

Lukas widened his eyes, jumping over to the side, but he did so right as Leroy turned. The back of his lance forced Lukas to hit the ground, sending his own lance flying out of his hand. He groaned, using his shaky legs to help him stand, and glared back at Leroy, who stood there, frowning.

“Your training isn't over yet, brother.” Leroy spat the last word out, droplets of spit landing on the dirt. “If you wish to insult me, then at least know the consequences of doing so.”

Lukas could only watch as Leroy charged once more, the silver tip pointed right at him.


	3. Three - Brothers (2)

"'The most harmful lies and the most hurtful, always contain a grain of truth,' he said. 'But nevertheless, lies they do remain.'"  
\- Robin Jarvis 

\---

"W-Wait! I didn't even get ready yet!"

His feet were planted firmly on the ground, refusing to move; he could only watch as Leroy continued to charge. Lukas's mouth was slightly open, his jaw still throbbing from before. The lance was slipping between his clammy, shaking hands as he attempted to point it at his brother.

He couldn't do much besides get into his stance and brace for the attack. The redhead was frozen in place, his eyes wide as he watched the silver tip. There was still a burn in his trembling legs from crouching too long. Mud covered his entire backside and armor, along with the streak of mud on his face. He felt a chilly breeze on the back of his head and shivered, feeling the chills spread throughout his body.

Leroy was coming closer and closer by the second. Although he was moving quickly, it didn't seem like it.

Lukas took a breath. The books were right - everything slows down in battle.

He saw everything, from the droplets of mud splashing up to stain Leroy's armor, to how the stars and remnants of the sunset hit his face, illuminating all his harsh features. He saw how his knuckles were all white from holding the lance too tightly as he ran, his eyes almost too focused on the eight year-old.

Lukas's glassy eyes continued to analyze his brother, thinking of how he should defend. Maybe just sidestep him? Or just drop to the ground? He shivered while struggling to maintain his grip on the lance; his eyes closed for a moment as he continued to process, his mind whirling with endless thoughts and worries.

Once Leroy was close, he decided that it was best to get out of the way. Lukas took a large step to the side, only to hear a loud clang in the air as he was knocked onto the ground, face-first. He groaned, feeling pain in his chest from the impact. His arms shook from trying to stand up - luckily, his lance was still in his hand, the wooden splinters digging deeper into his palm.

Lukas saw a brown blur in front of his vision. He let out a cry this time as Leroy's lance hit him in the arms, sending his lance flying off into the distance. Dirt stifled his cries and uneven breaths. He rolled over; it was difficult to breathe with his face in the dirt.

A pair of black eyes glared at him. There was a type of disgust in his eyes, with a fire that burned behind them as he stared. His eyes were laced with madness, but it was a maniacal one, compared to his father's raw anger yesterday. "Do you wish to insult me again?"

Lukas turned his head, glancing at the once-polished silver that was now covered in dirt. It was too far for him to reach with his short arms. Leroy must have realized that his brother wanted to retaliate, because Lukas felt a pain in his shoulder shortly afterwards. He winced, holding back the tears.

"I said, do you wish to insult me again?"

Yes, Lukas thought. Insults were on the tip of his tongue, only being held back by his body, reminding him that he was sore and bruised. He closed his eyes and swallowed - more and more insults swarmed his mind as he laid there, as well as a realization: _it wasn't fair._

He gulped, trying to control his breaths. _It wasn't fair,_ he repeated. _It wasn't._ These words swirled in his mind, repeating to the point where his shaky breaths of fear were turned into ones of anger. His red eyes opened, narrowing as soon as they saw Leroy.

"Is the only reason why you enjoy fighting," Lukas began, "to feel better about yourself, considering how terrible you are at everything-"

Lukas didn't have time to react as he saw Leroy's lance move. The side of his head was met with the force of the swift lance, and all Lukas could do was wince and let out a loud cry, hoping that someone, anyone would hear. Everything seemed to spin around him as he covered his mouth, trying to ignore the searing pains on his body.

There was another burn on his arm; this one, however, was much worse than before. A gasp escaped his lips - his voice was too raw to let out another scream. His hand moved to touch the wound - it was wet. He pulled his hand away, only to see that his fingers were red.

"Then do you enjoy reading to help you feel better about yourself?" Leroy mocked. He had stepped away, his eyes still glaring at Lukas. "Does reading help you get over the face that you are terrible as-"

Lukas stood up, grabbing his lance on the way. His body felt as if it was moving on its own, his foot stepping forwards. He turned and set his foot down on the dirt, feeling the silver of his lance slice through something.

Leroy's eyes widened. He looked down - Lukas had slashed him, right in between his armor and his boots. There was a red line that ran from one thigh to the next. It was thin - Lukas didn't try to cut too deeply - but Leroy had to take into account the clothing and padding that he wore.

Had he not been wearing anything, Lukas would have, most definitely, cut an inch or two into his thigh.

"Y-You..." Leroy stammered. He narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at Lukas. "You cut me!"

Lukas looked down at the cut, his mouth curved into a smile. His eyes were still dark, however. "Reading is a great thing to do in general. Fighting, on the other hand, is useful for nothing but punishment and revenge. Don't try to attack-"

"Lukas."

He froze.

He looked up, eyes widening, only to meet his father's two, cold eyes. They were glaring directly at Lukas, and all of Lukas's confidence had faded. His hands were back to shaking uncontrollably as he bowed his head, loosening his grip on the lance.

All of the sounds in the background seemed to fade - Leroy's voice, explaining the twisted version of the truth to his father, had disappeared. His father's constant, but gentle, questioning was gone. Even the sounds of nature, the same ones that he once loved, were drowned out. The quiet chirp of the crickets? Gone. The sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze? Gone.

"Go back in and clean that wound, Leroy."

"Yes, father."

The sound of armor clinking was heard once again as Leroy ran back to the house. Lukas sneered, still looking down at his feet. He hoped that his father could notice that Leroy was the one who initiated the fight, even if he doubted it.

"Lukas."

He looked up, noting that his father was standing there, arms crossed. Their eyes met for a moment, until Lukas turned his head away. His father's glare sent too many chills down Lukas's back for him to be comfortable.

His father turned away. "Head to your room. I'll discuss this issue with you later."

"Yes, Father." Lukas sighed, watching as his father went back to the cottage.

\---

Lukas was back in his room once again, on his prickly straw bed. The stain on the sheet from the book was still there, the grey of the dust standing out on the white cotton. He let out a sigh, having changed out of his armor and into his normal, cotton clothing, but this shirt was already soaked in nervous sweat.

He was looking up at the ceiling, paying careful attention to the wood grain and pattern that ran through it. His red eyes traced the thin streaks. They were almost like rivers, he noted. Strong, powerful rivers.

A breath was taken as he glanced at the door. If only his father could come already, even if he dreaded his arrival. There were plenty of books under his bed, waiting to be read, but in order for him to read, in peace, his father would have to come up first. Whether or not that was a good thing, he wasn't sure, but his body seemed to believe that it wasn't with its constant shaking and sweating.

He winced as he moved his arm - he hadn't cleaned the cut yet. He was careful to wipe off all the dirt that was in the cut, as Leroy seemed to be taking quite a long time for a quick bath. Ignoring the pain, he sat up on the bed. If he complained about it to his father, then he would be yelled at for fighting.

His dirt-covered armor and lance were lying on the ground, desperately needing a good wash. He scratched his head, dirt from his hair covering his fingers instead. A foot moved to wipe some of the dust off of the chestplate - it was freezing cold.

There was a creak.

Lukas immediately looked up, only to face his father. "Father."

"Son."

The two stood there, in silence. Lukas bit his cheek, his hands gripping the white sheet once again, while his father moved to pick up the lance on the ground. There was a single droplet of dried blood on the tip that seemed to have caught both of their eyes.

His father slid a finger along the edge, picking up the crust and the liquid blood underneath. It smeared on his finger, leaving a maroon stain on it. Lukas could only gulp as he watched his father stare at the blood, continuing to rub it between his fingers with a calm look.

"I told you to not cause trouble, didn't I?" His voice was quiet, yet an octave deeper than what it should have been. It was laced with poison and anger, and Lukas cowered because of it, even if his mind told him that he should fight back.

"Y-Yes, Father."

His father raised an eyebrow, his gaze turning to Lukas. " _'Yes, Father.' 'Of course, Father.' 'Father.' 'Father.'_ You never say anything else besides that, do you? Even after you stab your own brother in the leg, you don't even try to muster up the courage to apologize."

Lukas tried to steady his breaths. "Tell Leroy that I apologize."

"Do it yourself, Lukas."

Lukas winced, his heart pounding. A part of his mind was racing with the thought that if he could defeat Leroy, then he could probably defeat his father, too, but the other half knew that it was a terrible idea. He took a breath, letting his mouth choose what to say. "I won't do it myself. I think what I did was correct, actually."

His father's calm look disappeared, having been replaced with anger. "What did you say?"

Lukas shivered. "I-I think what I did was correct. After all, L-Leroy was the one that provoked me! A-And I just had to def-"

A quick slap to the cheek was what Lukas received. He was left with an opened mouth, and a throbbing jaw from both the lance and the slap.

"I wish not to hear your lies," his father said, sneering. "I expect a full apology to Leroy tomorrow. Do you understand?"

Lukas looked down at his cloth shoes. "Y-Yes, father." His voice trembled, and he felt as if he was on the verge of crying out loud. He felt as if something was restricting his lungs, forcing him to hold his breath as it continued to apply more and more pressure - it hurt. Nobody believed him and his truth.

Not even his own father.

"Good. Now go wash up after Leroy is finished, and eat something before resting. If you continue this behavior, I will continue to extend your training, but it will be with me instead."

"I- Yes... Father."

His father turned around and walked out of Lukas's room, his footsteps getting quieter as he walked away. Lukas let out the breath that he was holding, and, along with it, all the tears that he had been holding back.

He could only watch as tears dripped on his bed, dripping faster and faster as the minutes passed.


End file.
